Chapter Fifty-Five: Microcosm

As soon as the first representatives from the two faiths stepped forward, the host announced with fervent enthusiasm, “Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed guests, the Church of the Father and the Church of the Star have both sent forth their first champions. On the side of the Church of the Father, we have the thirteen-year-old Saga Victor. Rumor has it that he is the strongest among the younger generation of the Church’s guardian warriors. Let us look forward to his performance and give him a round of applause!”

A smattering of applause echoed through the hall, but it was sparse and half-hearted. Many in the audience booed Saga, their faces twisted with schadenfreude.

Saga took it all in without a word, but his fists clenched tightly at his sides.

The host, seemingly unfazed and expecting such a reaction, continued, “On the other side, the Church of the Star is represented by Arenas Hacilon, known as the Radiant Knight. I’ve heard that Sir Hacilon broke through to become a second-rank warrior just a month ago. He is recognized as one of the top ten prodigies among the new generation in the Red Moon Province. Let us give him a warm round of applause!”

The audience, barely able to contain themselves, erupted in thunderous applause. Countless young women shouted out Arenas’s name, their faces alight with adoration. The handsome blond youth ran a hand through his long hair and flashed a dazzling, heart-stopping smile, waving at his female admirers. Many clutched their chests and swooned, their infatuation exaggerated and unabashed.

This spectacle drew envious glares from many of the young men in the crowd. Even Link couldn’t help but wonder if someone ought to rush up and mar that smug face—Arenas was simply too insufferable.

However, upon realizing that this man truly was the famed Radiant Knight, even Saga was taken aback. Arenas’s reputation had reached even the most remote corners of the land. A renowned master, he had attained the rank of a second-tier warrior at sixteen and, in one leap, joined the ranks of the province’s top ten prodigies. Now, at nineteen, he had already reached the pinnacle of the second tier. Saga found this pace of advancement astonishing—many so-called geniuses might never reach such heights in a lifetime.

Yet in the face of such a formidable enemy, Saga felt not the slightest fear—only anticipation and excitement. Only a worthy opponent like this could draw forth his true power. Only an adversary of this caliber was fit to serve as the stepping stone for Saga’s rise to glory.

With this thought, Saga glanced in Link’s direction—Rest assured, Archbishop, not only will I win this battle, but I will do so in splendid style!

After basking in the adulation, Arenas turned to Saga with a look of pity. “Your name is Saga, right? You’re truly unfortunate to have been sent out first by your foolish archbishop. It seems your debut at the Festival of All Gods will end in tragedy. I hope this won’t break your spirit.”

When Arenas dared to insult Link, Saga narrowed his eyes, a cold light flashing within them. His voice was icy as he replied, “I’ll return your words to you just as you said them. I hope that after this duel, it won’t be you who loses heart—otherwise, the Church of the Star will suffer a great loss.”

Arenas sneered, “You certainly have a sharp tongue, boy. But you’ll soon learn that careless words come with a price.”

This time, Saga couldn’t even be bothered to answer. He simply closed his eyes, exuding an air of disdain that made Arenas’s posturing seem almost modest by comparison. Arenas’s eyes flashed with anger and murderous intent.

Sensing the escalating tension, the host wasted no time in announcing the start of the duel. Arenas drew a gleaming sword and said, “Draw your weapon, boy!”

Without bothering to open his eyes, Saga scoffed, “To deal with you, I have no need of weapons. My hands and feet will suffice.”

“So you have a death wish? Don’t blame me for what comes next!” Enraged by Saga’s contempt, Arenas brandished his sword and charged.

Saga stood unmoving, as if completely oblivious to the attack. Only when the blade was inches from him did he suddenly raise his hand and, to the astonishment of all present, pinched the sword between two fingers.

The arena erupted in shock. To stop a blade barehanded was rare enough, but for someone who, in the eyes of the crowd, scarcely matched even Arenas’s little toe, it was unthinkable.

Arenas was stunned and tried to yank his sword free, but it was as if the blade were embedded in stone; it would not budge. Saga remained impassive, eyes closed as though none of this concerned him.

Furious, Arenas summoned his fighting aura and finally wrenched the sword back. He attacked again, this time with even greater ferocity, his swordplay sharp and ruthless. Yet, incredibly, Saga, now with his eyes open but his feet still unmoving, simply caught and released the blade with two fingers, rendering every attack futile.

With just two fingers, he suppressed Arenas—one of the top ten prodigies!

Was this some kind of joke? Was Arenas holding back, or had the entire audience fallen under a collective hallucination?

The crowd gaped in disbelief, the whole arena falling into an uncanny silence as the bizarre scene unfolded. Even Link, who had expected Saga to be strong, found himself surprised. “When did that boy become so powerful? Is his inner strength really that deep?”

Aiolos hesitated before replying, “Archbishop, the power Saga is using now is no longer the divine art you taught him.”

“It’s not the Nine Yang Divine Art? Then what is it?” Link asked in astonishment.

Aiolos shook his head. “I’m not sure what it is. Saga recently comprehended a new power called the Microcosm. He says he inherited it from the Sacred Cloth. Only with this power can the Cloth’s true potential be unleashed. This, he says, is what a Saint truly needs.”

“The Microcosm? It’s actually the Microcosm?” Link murmured in disbelief. This was indeed the true power of a Saint, but what he had created was a mere imitation—how could it have brought forth the Microcosm as well? The Microcosm, like inner energy, was a completely different power system, foreign to the world of Sora. Creating a new power system was no trivial feat.

“It seems the True God System is even more wondrous than I imagined. To think it could even bring forth the Microcosm. How did such a thing come about? Why was it given to me?” Link fell into deep thought, his brow furrowing.

Aiolos, seeing Link’s expression, misunderstood and hurried to explain, “Archbishop, please don’t blame Saga. He was so excited upon grasping this new power that he planned to surprise you once he’d mastered it—he meant no disrespect by not informing you sooner.”

Link snapped out of his reverie and smiled, setting aside his thoughts for the moment. “Don’t worry, I’m not angry. I was just thinking about something else. Still, Saga has truly impressed me. I know what the Microcosm is—it’s a formidable power indeed. Judging by his progress, after today, the rankings of the Red Moon Province’s top ten prodigies will have to be revised. Aiolos, you’ll have to work hard or you’ll fall ever further behind him.”

Aiolos beamed with pride at his friend’s praise, but his smile turned wry at the end. “Archbishop, now that Saga has mastered the power of a Saint, I haven’t even touched a Sacred Cloth. Without one, I can’t grasp the Microcosm. When can you beseech the great Father to bestow another Sacred Cloth upon us?”

“Don’t worry—it won’t be long,” Link replied with a smile. This was no mere reassurance; he felt certain that once the system upgrade was complete, a great surprise awaited him.

Aiolos’s face lit up at these words.

Back in the arena, seeing Saga’s overwhelming display, Arenas stopped holding back. He unleashed a torrent of powerful techniques, finally forcing Saga to move. Yet even so, Arenas could not make him abandon his insouciant “two-finger technique,” and Saga showed no intention of changing his approach. He met every attack with those same two fingers, driving Arenas to the brink of frustration.

There was no denying the might of the Microcosm. By Link’s estimation, it was on par with the true energy used by cultivators. In the original legend, Saints who mastered the Microcosm could even slay gods. Even without reaching such heights, the Microcosm’s shamelessly rapid growth and formidable resilience outclassed most internal energy techniques.

Were it possible, Link would have liked to master the Microcosm himself. Unfortunately, it required a powerful faith to drive it. Without unwavering belief, its true potential could not be realized. This was also why donning the Sacred Cloth demanded such faith.

Even without the Sacred Cloth, Saga could unleash the strength of an early third-rank warrior—enough to surpass Arenas and leave the entire audience feeling as if they were witnessing a dream. The so-called “experts” and “professors” who had predicted the outcome before the match now looked as if they had seen ghosts. Several rubbed their eyes repeatedly, as if doubting their own vision.

If they knew that Saga had only been at the peak of the first tier just over a month ago, perhaps they would have dug themselves a hole in shame.

Seeing he could not bring Saga down, Arenas grew increasingly anxious. Though he had stamina to spare, Saga had stayed wholly on the defensive. If Saga decided to counterattack, would Arenas be able to respond?

This thought made Arenas glance toward Amon, as if seeking guidance from the bishop.

Amon, too, was stunned by Saga’s performance. When Arenas looked to him, he hesitated before nodding and mouthing a few words. Arenas understood, and a sharp glint appeared in his eyes.

He immediately ceased his assault, retreating ten meters to put distance between himself and Saga. Then, from within his garments, he drew forth a white crystal and announced solemnly, “Saga Victor, your performance has truly surprised me. I admit I underestimated you before. However, if you continue to defend without attacking, this match will be mine.”

With that, Arenas clenched the crystal tightly. It burst into brilliant light, and when the radiance faded, he stood clad in a magnificent and sturdy suit of white armor.